


spilled ink | a DreamSMP retelling

by astrifer0us



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Dream SMP retelling, Gen, Hybrid Phil, Not RPF tags just suck, Phil is not a great father, hybrid techno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28959615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrifer0us/pseuds/astrifer0us
Summary: He’s stalling, now. The ink on the paper has long since dried, but he blows on it once more for good measure. He stands, throwing on his coat, grabbing his hat from the rack. A bag of supplies, just the bare necessities. Where he’s going, he can’t bring more.There’s a dragon that needs to die. He needs to make a safe world for those that come after him.For his children.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationships - Relationship, SBI Family Dynamic - Relationship
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first DSMP fanfic, please be kind!! im sorry if i mischaracterise anyone  
> also idk what techno says, theyre a family dangit
> 
> this will follow the main storyline of the DSMP, very sbi focused so i might not touch on all subplots and such  
> obv spoiler warning for the DSMP story!!
> 
> with that said, i hope you enjoy!!

The house is, mercifully, quiet. The children have been put to bed and the hearth has died down to embers. Outside, the wind rustles through the trees and shadows cast strange shapes, but inside nothing stirs but for the faint scratches of a pen against paper.

The clock nears midnight as Phil bends himself over the writing desk, one hand tangling in his hair. Words normally flow easy; now, every syllable requires immense effort to put down in ink.

A chime startles him, feathers ruffling out in a defensive posture before the sound continues and he realises it’s only the clock. A soft laugh escapes him; since when has he been so skittish? His ears perk up with every sound, straining to hear the creak of a floorboard or the whisper of a voice. But no, surely everyone is asleep, he’d seen to it himself.

His hand slips on the last word, creating a slash in the paper that bleeds ink. He curses, dabbing at the mess with a sleeve to no avail. Still, the words are legible, and that is what matters. He sighs, leaning back in his chair, his gaze falling on the ceiling. His boys are up there, safe and sound.

But he can’t stay. He knows this. His heart aches with the knowledge; the knowledge that his children will grow up without him, that he might never see them again. That they might resent him, hate him.

He’s stalling, now. The ink on the paper has long since dried, but he blows on it once more for good measure. He stands, throwing on his coat, grabbing his hat from the rack. A bag of supplies, just the bare necessities. Where he’s going, he can’t bring more.

There’s a dragon that needs to die. He needs to make a safe world for those that come after him.

For his children.

A quarter past midnight, the door to the cabin falls shut. A brief gust of wind slips inside, rustling the papers on the desk. One lifts, and floats across the floor. The last remaining embers from the hearth will catch it and set it alight.

In the morning, there will be nothing but ashes as a set of yawning boys trample down the stairs. The only evidence will be the spilled ink on the desk, and the yawning absence of a father figure in their lives.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur is an adult. The boys are growing every day. They don’t need him.  
> And he needs to let the rage take over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so to note: i fudge a bit with the ages here. in order in this fic its techno, wilbur, tommy, tubbo.  
> also this retelling will be mostly sbi-focused so ill prolly not get to everyones introductions and stuff into the SMP, but im always open for requests if you want to see a specific scene!!

Most of these days, he feels more like a father than a brother. Will tries to help, usually, but he also holes himself up, loses himself in his music. Some days, he wants to just make a run for it. Pack up his stuff and trek out into the wilds on his own.

Then he remembers what Phil did, and files those thoughts away.

So he stays. He farms potatoes, and makes sure Tommy gets dressed, and forces Wilbur to do the laundry, and stays as far away from Tubbo as he possibly can. Taking care of toddlers is one thing; a baby goes too far. Wilbur does his best from the moment the boy is dropped on their doorstep, and Tommy seems infatuated by the kid, so they’ve got it well enough in hand between the two of them.

Wilbur goes from gangly and prepubescent to lanky and moody. Doesn’t matter; Techno puts a sword in his hand all the same. Kid’s gotta learn to defend himself, and his family. Phil taught Techno once, long ago, with battered wooden training swords. He remembers the elated feeling of victory when he’d manage to best his father; remembers the barely suppressed bloodlust that staid his hand. But he learns to control himself, sates the voices out in the woods that surround their cabin and comes home with pelts and meats to last them another week.

Will doesn’t know that rage. The hilt of the stone blade lies awkwardly in his hand, and he stumbles with each hit. Tommy is on the sidelines holding Tubbo, excitement shining in his eyes. He begs Techno at least once a week to train him, too.

He gifts the youngest two wooden swords when Tubbo is old enough to reliably get around on his own. He watches as they duke it out in the yard, screaming and yelling, and he reprimands them over their bruises at night.

Wilbur turns eighteen, and two things happen. First, news starts to spread across the country of a brave hero slaying the dragon that had terrorised the Ender realm for centuries. Second, an illusive royal who goes by only the name of Beast is hosting a tourney.

Techno tries to push past the bloodlust. Tries to tell himself he will not be like his father. The fact remains that the voices call for battle in the night, and the money would set them up for years.

He checks, obsessive and relentless. The weapons stashed in the storage room. The seeds and the canned food. The bundles of fur and pelts. Wilbur is an adult. The boys are growing every day. They don’t need him.

And he needs to let the rage take over.

He is still his father’s son. He leaves by nightfall, when the house is quiet. He thinks he sees a window open as he mounts his horse, sees grey eyes peering out under dark curls. A nod, and the head disappears, and he rides off into the night.

He wins the match. His final opponent, after rounds of idiots that fall to his blade, is a young man named Dream. The guy unnerves him, with his pale porcelain mask seeming to mock him with its crude smile, and he fights well, but Techno’s blood roars in the voices of thousands of warriors, and his victory is secured at the last second, his sword brushing the skin of his opponent’s neck.

He’s not used to being showered in praise like he is after the fight. Certainly, before Phil took him from the Nether, he’d been in his fair share of matches, but to the piglins, combat was a natural part of life. Here, he is lauded like a hero. Draped in gold and expensive furs, he has a seat at every fancy dinner. His animalistic appearance doesn’t seem to bother the stuffy nobles that dine with him – rather, he is complimented like he’s a show animal.

Dream is a fair loser, and the two spend a lot of time together after the match. The man is a traveller, searching for a place to settle down, and he invites Techno, but is not angry at his refusal. They promise to exchange letters and part ways, and Techno heads eastward. Not north, where his family is. Some part of him tugs that way, but he pushes it down. He has felt the adrenaline rush through his veins like he hasn’t in years, and he has to follow that sensation.

The forests and the mountains to the east are teeming with wildlife and with monstrous beings. No one has to see him as he carves his way through the desiccated corpses of zombies, fends off a horde of skeletons.

He keeps tabs. Dream’s birds always seem to find him, and through the letters he learns that the other man has settled down in an unoccupied stretch of land he has called Semperium. He has found friends, and does not shy away from telling Techno all about them, about his best friends George and Sapnap, about Sam and Callahan and Alyssa and Bad and Ponk. Joy sparks from his words and Techno is happy for him. Still, he declines any invitation to join. He doesn’t want a new family. Not while he has abandoned his own.

Up north, three brothers prepare for a trek to the south. Their cabin lies abandoned behind them as they pack up their horses and leave. They have new lands to discover.


End file.
